


of flesh and bones

by Kalus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 00:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10293209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalus/pseuds/Kalus
Summary: "There are no ghosts in this world, save those we make for ourselves."The dead don't die. It's the living that do.





	

The entity is upon him again, regardless of all the doors he's closed, all the chains and locks he's bounded to it.

It always happens when he's at his most vulnerable, as if the entity itself is aware of those moments when his world drains, like the opacity of a watercolor, fading into a bleak grey. This time is no different; Sherlock can feel the locks creaking, the chains brittle, tentative, releasing it's firm hold on his pressure point. It wants to play again. 

Sherlock doesn't. The entity pays no mind to that little tad bit though. W̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶e̶v̶e̶r̶?̶

He keeps his eyes closed as the entity approaches, because just seeing it.. _acknowledging_ it, will send him back into the epicenter of a whirlpool, tossing and turning about as he struggles to come up for air. He isn't particularly fond of that feeling. Breathlessness. 

There's silence for a few long moments, save for the sound of a clock ticking in the background. It's absolutely maddening; Sherlock wants nothing more than to smash the compartment and plunge it deep into his eyes. At least, then, he won't see the entity.

It's a shame that other senses enhance as one closes. 

He's fully aware of the fingers stroking his cheek, of the fingers trailing down his jawline, settling along the ridges of his mouth. He can feel its breath fanning his face, its eyes scrutinizing his facial features. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he lets the entity patrol on, it'll grow bored and leave him alone. 

But it's never that simple.

"I know you're awake, dearest," the entity muses, sighing fondly, adoringly, "Your breathing pattern changed." Its fingers continue its needless prodding, tracing the corners of his mouth like some sort of coloring book. "Your body is also showing subtle signs of an elevated heart rate. No? Still not going to respond? You roused me from Pandora's box the least you could do is say hello."

Drearily, Sherlock glances up at the entity. It's smiling down at him with something akin to wicked joy. Goosebumps rang across his body. "Hello," Sherlock says, pleased to hear his voice come out even. A small victory but he'll take it.

There's twisted amusement reflected in those eyes. "Aren't you hilarious, but yes, hello dear. How have you been?"

"I think you would know more than anyone the status of my emotional state. You've already made a home out of it after all."

"Speaking of homes," the entity cuts in, light and almost conversational. "Would you mind keeping it down a notch with all those locks and chains? It's quite a hassle. Kinky sure, but.. quite concerning. Rightfully so."

"It's to keep people like you out until I find a quarantine." He says, exhaling. 

"I'm touched," it says, and then sharper, "but it's just about control isn't it? You want to have control over me." Its fingers inch ever so slightly up to his cheekbones, before trailing down the layers of his neck. Sherlock is fully aware of how easy it would be to wrap fingers around his windpipe, depriving him of oxygen to breathe with. "It doesn't have to be like that though." It says calmly, the underlining tone of dark impossible to miss. "Perhaps, if you consider being _nicer_ to me.."

Sherlock averts his gaze. "You're not real."

"I _was_ real," it admits, quiet and deliberate. "Are you regretting your choice now?"

Sherlock says nothing, but his silence only serves to amuse the entity even further. 

"Oh, Sherlock," it croons, wrapping its arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. "You're tired. I get it. I understand darling. But there's a choice. There's always a _choice._ That offer I so graciously extended to you oh so long ago.. it's still on the table. For you. Always for you."

Sherlock forces himself to relax- to return the gesture. If he's wishing for a dream that can't come true, he might as well embrace this hurt past. 

~~I did. I did miss you. How could I not?~~


End file.
